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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805999">and all i loved</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayshitiguess/pseuds/gayshitiguess'>gayshitiguess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, witcher netflix - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, sorry bout it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:08:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayshitiguess/pseuds/gayshitiguess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"When he saw Jaskier again, his hair was longer, and he was slim and bright, and his smile was as it always was. Geralt hadn’t known, in the fifty odd years that he had known the bard that he had such details memorized." </p><p>_</p><p>Geralt stumbles across Jaskier after the mountain and Jaskier lets off some steam.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and all i loved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just think that Jaskier should get to punch Geralt actually.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When he saw Jaskier again, his hair was longer, and he was slim and bright, and his smile was as it always was. Geralt hadn’t known, in the fifty odd years that he had known the bard that he had such details memorized. He supposed since he had spent so long with him, it was only natural that he be familiar. That was something that he hadn’t been with someone in a very long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was singing, but not the way he used to. He was sat at a stool in a tavern that was most likely too nice for Geralt to be stomping into with his muddy boots. He wasn’t bouncing around, rousing the crowd, causing a fuss, but it was late in the night, and the patrons of the bar seemed tired and lulled to it by Jaskier’s voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was singing a sad song, something low and somber, and it did not suit the bard that he knew. Jaskier wrote plenty of them, but he hardly sang them outside of the small camps that they would make in the woods at night, when left too far from an inn to stay. They weren’t meant for a crowd, Jaskier would say. Nothing made an audience disperse faster than a sad song. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd did not disperse, but they did linger in their lonely corners, speaking quietly into their ale. Geralt could not track the words of the song, but he could hear that timbre in Jaskier’s voice, that soft trill that he only adopted when he was truly upset. Geralt had only heard it a few times. When listening to the tale of an elf. When being dismissed for better company. On the top of a lonely mountain that he had braved only for the Witcher’s sake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt knew that he had been wrong. He knew that the things that he had said were in anger and though Jaskier had a tendency to bother him, that bother was almost always for the best.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, those eyes that were too blue to believe, locked onto him, just barely stood inside the doorway. His song tapered out, his voice fading away from his throat instead of cracking off. His fingers stilled on his lute, and Geralt could not look away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He recovered quickly, like Jaskier always did when performing. He was skilled in many things, and one of those was adapting. An easy smile spread across his face as he strummed on his lute a few times experimentally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ladies, gentlemen,” his eyes cut away from Geralt and cast a warm gaze upon the crowd, “those of us who know better.” His smile was quirked up a bit more on one side, the closest thing that his crooked mouth could form into a smirk. Geralt remembered, very distantly, how that crooked mouth felt against his skin. Askew. Imperfect. “I believe I have regaled you with my most experimental and unpopular songs so far tonight, and I beg your forgiveness.” A few patrons chuckled, and the crowd warmed from a lonely and sad night into a warm meeting around a hearth. “So, I will give you what you want. Allow me to regale you with the adventures of the White Wolf.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That song. That fucking song that he couldn’t stand. It had stuck in his head for five decades now and his voice was far worse at capturing the tune. He only sang it when he was deep into the woods alone, and the only things that could hear him would be the bird who would echo back his messy tune. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Jaskier’s voice hadn’t changed. It still lilted in the same way it always had when he reached high notes, his long neck stretching to accommodate the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. He was a pretty thing still, lean and graceful as a bird, with all the care for his movements of a foul taking its first steps. His fingers were precise as he sang that familiar tune, slowed down to fit the mood of his crowd, but his foot bounced recklessly against the leg of his stool, offbeat and anxious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt listened for a moment, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to imagine them in a tavern far away, down south, ten or so years ago. He could almost believe that, after this number, Jaskier would come bounding towards him on his awkward legs, asking just how stunning he had been that night. And he wouldn’t give an honest answer, but it would be there in the subtle shifts of their eyes, in the way their skin barely brushed together as they shared a drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The song was over far too soon, his voice holding out that top note longer than necessary. Was Jaskier showing off? Surely for his benefit, Geralt thought. He had a bad habit of trying to impress people with whom he was angry. He opened his eyes in time to see the bard bow low, bent almost in half, as the crowd gave him a healthy amount of applause. It was a good night. And usually, on good nights, Jaskier seemed to glow. Not tonight. Perhaps that was too much to ask of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his lute strapped to his back, the bard made a direct line for him, and Geralt made no move to escape. He deserved whatever Jaskier was planning to throw at him, and he would take it with his head hung. Jaskier did not smile. His eyes didn’t light up. He walked until he stood in front of Geralt, and he was suddenly reminded that Jaskier was almost as tall as him. In Geralt’s memory, he had always seemed so small. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Buy me a drink,” Jaskier said, and his voice was hollow. “I’m in the third room. You smell like horseshit.” And with that, he moved gracefully up the stairs, giving a kind smile to the barmaid as he passed. Geralt was frozen for a moment, almost unable to process what had happened. He was being forced to pay for his words with alcohol, which he would gladly do, and then he was invited into Jaskier’s room, something he never thought he would be again. And he, apparently, smelled like horseshit. What else was new? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did as he was told, bought Jaskier a tall glass of ale, and made his way up the stairs to the third room. He knocked politely, and when Jaskier called him in, he removed his boots and swords, leaning them against the wall like Jaskier always bothered him to do. Standing in his bare feet and armor, he held onto Jaskier’s drink until he emerged from the small bathing room. Hot water had been drawn, but Geralt doubted that that was for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier took his drink, took a slow sip from it, and nodded. And then, in one reckless motion, he threw the ale into Geralt’s face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt was shocked by this, and so his hand shot out and caught Jaskier’s wrist in a crushing hold. Jaskier swung his other hand, pulled into a messy fist, and slammed it into Geralt’s cheekbone. It was a lackluster hit, and Geralt let go of Jaskier immediately, just in time for him to double over and clutch his hand to his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” He shouted. “You bastard!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier-“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier flexed his hand, took several steps away and turned his back on Geralt. “You bastard.” He said again, softly. With feeling. “Wipe the ale off of yourself, you pig.” A cloth was thrown at him, and he caught it easily, despite Jaskier’s messy throw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve broken your hand.” He said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>face </span>
  </em>
  <span>broke my hand!” Jaskier shouted back. He turned again, and his eyes were more grey than blue, and they were dangerous like the sea during a storm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” He ducked his head under that gaze, afraid of what would come out of it if he held it too long. “You’re right.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m always right, you stupid Witcher.” The anger was leaking out of his voice now, and instead he sounded so very tired that it made something in Geralt’s chest ache. “Give me your healing bag.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt retrieved his bag and took it to Jaskier, but as soon as he saw the state of Jaskier’s hand (his last two fingers a bit mangled, hanging in towards his palm where they had been crushed against his face), he thought better of letting Jaskier do it himself. He took his wrist in his hands again, his hold gentle this time, and led Jaskier to sit on the edge of the bed as he knelt before him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You bastard.” Jaskier said again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve told me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get to be a monster then be gentle with me,” he huffed, letting Geralt attend to his hand with little fussing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” He said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know that you are,” the heat was back now. “That’s not enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… I have nothing else to give you.” His eyes were locked with the quickly swelling shape of Jaskier’s little finger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Jaskier said. “And I know I am meant to forgive you. But it is not enough, and I don’t think anything will be enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a very long time, as Geralt wrapped his fingers together in a neat line. The hair that dusted Jaskier’s arm, just barely on the top of his hand, was dark and delicate, and Geralt wanted to lavish those fingers in care and blessed potions and wrapping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last time he had seen Jaskier, the hair on his temples was tinted grey. And now, it was dark and full and his eyes were clear, and his skin was smooth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” his fingers came up without his permission, tracing along the stretch of skin where his crow’s feet had once crinkled every time he laughed. “What did you do?” Those eyes were dark and confused and dangerous for a moment, but then they snapped into clarity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so ready to believe that I am as reckless as you are?” He huffed. “It was Yennefer,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That… didn’t make sense. Not one lick of it. When they were on that mountain, there was hardly a moment where the two weren’t at each other’s throats. He could never tell if it was some sort of feud for his attention or if they truly didn’t get along, but he was somewhat glad for it. He thought that the two together would be a dangerous combination. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yennefer…” he replied. “She… why would she do that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stared at him for a moment as though there were some obvious answer that he was blind to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You broke our hearts, Geralt.” His voice was quiet and miserable, and Geralt had never considered that those two hearts were even capable of being broken. “Both of us. We… we wasted our lives on you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thirty years, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Geralt. But the two of you have plenty of lives to waste. Me? I am finite. My time is short. And so she gave it back to me. I don’t know how, and I don’t intend to find out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt sat back on his ass, gently setting Jaskier’s hand on his knee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She hated you,” was all he could think to say. That made Jaskier laugh, a short, humorless thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he replied. “As it turns out, the only thing needed to bring us together was a common enemy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That silence returned, that uncomfortable, heavy quiet that never felt right when Jaskier was near. Jaskier was loud unconditionally. Or maybe he wasn’t, not anymore. It had been a long time since Geralt had known him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have loved you,” Geralt said. “Both of you. All this time.” Jaskier’s stormy eyes locked onto him for a long moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that meant to mean something to me?” He said softly. Geralt was thrown off by that response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes…” was all he could think to say. Jaskier laughed again, and it was a cruel laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You say the most idiotic things.” He stood, crossed his arms over his chest, and stalked to the window of his room. Geralt stood, and lurked behind him. “As if you think your undying love for the people who you betrayed and hurt while you trapsed your solitary way through the continent for a decade means </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything to us!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier turned on him, his voice high and severe. “Do you think that is some sort of loyalty? You don’t know a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>about loyalty!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier-“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For fifty years of my life, I have literally sung your praises! And you broke my </span>
  <em>
    <span>heart! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And I continued to do it! I would have been in every right to start singing songs about the monstrous Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken.” He had walked forward, his hand clutched tightly into his own shirt, into the large black thing that Geralt recognized only then that must have been one of his that Jaskier had stolen away at some point. He still wore it. He wore it well. “But I didn’t.” There were tears in those stormy eyes. “I didn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>is loyalty.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt couldn’t say anything to that. Nothing at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gathered his things, only slowing to carefully pack away his lute as Geralt stood, dumbfounded in the center of the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The room is already paid for. There’s hot water, and I suggest you use it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where will you go?” He finally broke the spell that Jaskier’s words had cast over him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“An inn without a Witcher problem.” He huffed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When…” He turned as Jaskier shouldered open the door, his arms full of bags and clothes. “Can I see you again?” Jaskier stared at him for a very long moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try again in five years.” He said. The door shut behind him. Through the wood of the door, he heard a smile in Jaskier’s voice. “Maybe six.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he saw Jaskier again, he was reclined on a gold lined fainting couch in one of Yennefer’s crafted mansions. He was drinking wine, and his hair brushed against his shoulders. When he saw Geralt, that crooked smile spread across his face. There was something cruel in his eyes, but they were bright, bright blue. </span>
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